


hello (is it me you're looking for)

by bleep0bleep



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, F/M, Happy Ending, Kelpies, Meeting the Parents, Monster of the Week, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post Season/Series 04, Road Trips, Season/Series 04 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3445994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/pseuds/bleep0bleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since then they’ve certainly become more than a little question mark in Braeden’s encrypted files, but she can’t bring herself to change it just yet, like typing it out and saving it to her file would make it more definite, more real. Easier to lose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hello (is it me you're looking for)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zvi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zvi/gifts).



> For zvi, as part the [Teen Wolf Rare Pair Exchange. ](http://twrarepairexchange.tumblr.com/) I was inspired by a few of your prompts and tried combining them together, and story took off in its own direction. I hope you enjoy! \\(^_^)/
> 
> Thank you to pocketlass for the awesome beta-reading, and to charm, jay and skeith for cheering on and the support!

Braeden isn’t used to sitting in the passenger seat. She’s always been meticulous about being in control of her situation at all times; plus, she enjoys driving. Whether it’s her motorcycle or a car, the feeling of the road beneath her and the sky above never fails to bring her peace.

Derek’s Toyota still has that crisp, new-car smell. The dashboard is made of that awkward “easy cleanup” plastic so lauded by suburban parents. It’s kind of a mom car, and Braeden almost feels like she should be teasing Derek about it, but finds rather cute, actually.

He’s a steady driver, watching the road, and looking at Braeden every so often, turning to give her a smile. There’s classical music playing from the iPod Derek’s hooked up-- somehow surprising, somehow not. One of Tchaikovsky’s symphonies plays on, the inexhaustible melody blending seamlessly into the desert scenery as they drive past.  

She still isn’t sure how telling Derek about her mission to find the Desert Wolf turned into Derek coming _with_ her to find the Desert Wolf. It had just kind of happened. After everything at _La Iglesia_ , Braeden had been too caught up in the relief that Derek was alive, and she’d figured that she’d mention that she had a storage space up in La Paz with a motorcycle, and Derek could drop her off there on his way back to Beacon Hills.

Instead they had ended up pulling off the road twenty minutes after leaving the scene, kissing each other desperately, tumbling into the backseat, Braeden sighing in relief as Derek nuzzled into her neck.

Braeden’s always scoffed at the idea of calling sex “making love”-- but she’s not sure how else she would have described it then, Derek tenderly cupping the back of her neck, rocking his hips steadily into her, whispering her name into her ear, slowly bringing her to completion.

Derek’s voice jolts her out of her thoughts. “Hey, I got you licorice at the last gas station,” he says, handing her a package of Twizzlers.

“Thanks,” Braeden says, taking the package. She opens it with her teeth, plastic crinkling, and she goes over the map in her lap one more time. It’s covered in her own particular shorthand, meticulous notes on the Desert Wolf’s last known locations. She pulls out a red straw, munching on the candy, wondering if she’s ever told Derek she liked these. She’s pretty sure they haven’t had that conversation.

They haven’t had a lot of conversations.

Not for lack of trying, on Derek’s part at least. Braeden kind of knows where he’s going with it, the ever prominent question he wants to ask her.

She knows the answer she wants to give, but won’t admit to saying it out loud.

 

* * *

 

They stop in a small fishing town to investigate one of Braeden’s leads. Derek doesn’t really have to do anything else other than “stand there and look pretty,” Braeden had said with a wink.

He doesn’t mind. Derek knows his face and person are intimidating, so he tries his best to play this to Braeden’s advantage, crossing his arms and looking stern, standing behind her as she questions this fisherman.

The man gives Braeden an old photograph, grimy with age. It’s blurry, but one can make out the outline of a coyote, the eyes flaring supernaturally bright at the camera.

The photo is at least five years old, something Braeden’s contact had apparently not told her. She smells disappointed, but her face doesn’t reveal any emotion other than polite appreciation as she thanks the man and they leave.

Braeden’s lost in thought, staring out into the distance, watching the waves crash upon the coastline. Her hair flutters in the wind, eyes gazing ahead. She looks as striking as the first time Derek saw her, striding in to his rescue, determined and full of purpose.

Derek knows they’re not on vacation, per se, and that there’s a job to do. But the ocean view is spectacular, Braeden is beautiful, he’s never been to this part of Baja before, and he can’t help but imagine they’re a different kind of couple, on vacation, just admiring the view.

There are vendors walking past, shouting eagerly, hawking their wares, and Derek gets an idea. “You hungry?” he asks.

“I could eat,” Braeden says.

She watches curiously as Derek flags down one of the street vendors, buying a bag of freshly caught oysters. After a quick stop at a local store they also have a bottle of hot sauce and two limes, and Derek holds up the bounty, smiling at her.

They end up further down the beach, away from the noise of the town, with only the rush of the waves steadily crashing down onto shore. Derek pops open each of the oysters with a single outstretched claw, and Braeden gives him what she thinks is probably an unimpressed look, but she’s smiling anyways, lip quirked like she can’t help but be amused by him.

It’s a smile Derek’s never seen on her face in public-- it’s an open, honest thing. And it’s for Derek.

He feels warm and happy. Derek pulls her close for a kiss, hands wandering probably further than appropriate for a public beach, but there isn’t anyone here, just them and the sand and sky.

“Oysters, huh?” Braeden asks, voice low.

Derek hums in agreement, but he knows it’s not just the oysters.

 

* * *

 

They’re wasting time. Braeden knows if she was on her own she would have wrapped up all of these dead ends and pursued the only trail left-- the one that goes up to Arizona, the one that promises an actual person at the end of the search, not just photographs or stories.

But it’s addicting. She doesn’t know how else to describe it. The days turn to weeks of Braeden comfortably putting up her boots on Derek’s dashboard, listening to his music, eating fresh seafood and drinking fizzy soft drinks out of plastic bags and falling asleep on his warm, broad chest. They camp out sometimes, curled up in a shared sleeping bag, a campfire flickering softly, Derek’s arm wrapped around her waist, his nose pressed into her hair as they drift off to sleep. There are motels, too, bedrooms that smell faintly of must and other people but soon smells just like them.

They’ve been traipsing over the San Gorgonio Mountains, deep in the backcountry, and they had nothing to show for it; all they had found was an old empty hideout of the Desert Wolf, devoid of any scent for years.

The motel room is small but clean, and they’re taking the time to charge all their electronics. Derek peers over Braeden’s shoulder as she boots up her laptop and enters her password (forty-six random characters and numbers that she actually hasn’t changed in four weeks, she’s been slacking on that).

Braeden needs takes some time to update her meticulous files, but Derek is just kind of hovering-- oh, he’s giving her a massage. His strong fingers press into her shoulder muscles, releasing the tension there built up from hours of driving.

Names of contacts, assets, past clients flicker past as she scrolls through the folder, and Braeden resists closing her eyes and forgetting about work, just to relax into Derek’s touch.

“Is that a file on Scott?”

“Mmhm,” Braeden says, scrolling past it to find the file on the San Gorgonio Mountains. She opens it up, typing quickly.

“Do you keep a file on everyone?”

“Yup.”

“Do you have a file on me?” Derek teases.

Braeden finishes making her notes, noting that the Desert Wolf keeps a hideout there but it hasn’t been used in years, and adds some information about a cache of weapons and supplies that the Calaveras weren’t keeping too secret.

She scrolls up instead of answering, jerking her head at the screen where “Derek S. Hale” now is visible. Braeden tilts her head backward, waiting for Derek to ask about it. It’s not _too_ long of a file, she doesn’t mind sharing it with him. It’s just notes of what she knew of him from her previous gigs-- that he had been Isaac’s Alpha when she had that job to rescue Isaac from the Alpha Pack, then notes from the job from Deucalion, links to a separate file on his job request on locating Kate, and then the regular details she keeps on everyone-- contact information, known associates, strengths, weaknesses.

The only thing he might ask about is the section in the file that says _Standing: ?_ but Braeden’s pretty sure she could divert his attention before he gets that far. It’s a section that has come in fairly useful in the past: Braeden notes her currently standing with each person from their last interaction, like whether they’re likely to attack her or if one owes her money, whether they’d be willing or reluctant allies. It’s a good way to assess risk factor on dealing with people and plan for future interactions.

Braeden’s pretty sure Derek might have gotten a kick out of the note she had made after their first meeting, if that was still in the file for him to read. But she’d ended up deleting the quick assessment _hot, go for a ride on that before leaving BH_ after coming back to Beacon Hills.

It didn’t sit well with her, that idea, especially with Derek losing his werewolf powers and also not… being what Braeden expected. She’d added the _?_ after he’d taken her to the hospital, and since then they’ve certainly become more than a little question mark in Braeden’s encrypted files, but she can’t bring herself to change it just yet, like typing it out and saving it to her file would make it more definite, more real. Easier to lose.

In any case, Derek doesn’t look all that interested in the file. He just smiles and looks back down at her.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me what’s in it?”

Derek shrugs, bending down to kiss her softly on the lips. “I’m sure it’s boring,” he says.

“It’s about three thousand words describing the curve of your ass,” Braeden says, giving him a wry smile.

“Only my ass?” Derek asks, grinning mischievously.

Braeden kisses the eager smirk off his face.

 

* * *

 

Braeden wakes up first, watching the rise and fall of Derek’s chest for awhile, before getting out of the bed and starting her gun cleaning routine. She’s about halfway through when Derek blinks awake. His hair is all askew, and Braeden grins proudly at the sight.

“Yeah, yeah,” Derek says good naturedly, climbing out of the bed. He doesn’t bother with getting dressed, and Braeden doesn’t bother looking away when he bends over to charge his phone.

She does, however, notice the change in his expression as he looks at the phone screen as it turns on for the first time in over a week.

“Everything okay?” Braeden asks when his eyebrows knit together in worry.

“I have a few missed calls from Scott,” Derek says, frowning. “Text messages, too.” He reads them quickly, flicking through his phone. “There are kelpies living in the lake at Beacon Hills,” he says. He dials quickly, holding up the phone, face relaxing in obvious relief when he hears an answer.

“Yeah, Scott, sorry, I was helping Braeden with something-- uh huh, okay, yeah--”

A wave of guilt rushes over her. She likes Scott. He’s a good guy, doesn’t deserve to have his town terrorized by a group of carnivorous shape shifters. Kelpies are a bit tricky to kill, especially since they’ve evolved into many different variations.

Derek is explaining to Scott where exactly in the Hale vault is the detailed encyclopedia of water creatures, and Braeden can just barely make out Scott’s grateful voice on the other end of the phone.

“Derek, your family wouldn’t have happened to update that thing since the last kelpie sighting in Beacon Hills, right?” Braeden asks.

Derek cocks an eyebrow at her. “Ah, I don’t think so, the last update for that book I think was when I was twelve,” he says.

Braeden takes the phone from him. “Scott, whatever you find in that encyclopedia will probably be only about eighty percent accurate. Kelpies develop different vulnerabilities every generation.”

“Hey, Braeden,” Scott says. He sounds exhausted. “So far we’ve managed to keep them in the lake by surrounding it with mountain ash, but that doesn’t stop them from going after swimmers or fishermen. But it’s summertime and people aren’t going to stay away from the lake, plus the ash line keeps getting messed up by people and animals walking through it. I mean, I’ve been trying to talk to the kelpies and see if there can be something we can work out, but one of them’s already eaten a family’s dog at the lake campground. I’ve been trying to talk to them so far but I don’t think they speak English...”

“Look, Derek and I are just about done in Mexico. I know some kelpies spawned in the Salton Sea just a month ago before they were taken care of. I can track down the hunters that did it and tell you what their methods are,” Braeden says. “In the meantime, try pure iron in your boundaries, that work better than the mountain ash.”

“Iron, got it. Thanks, Braeden,” Scott says.

She hands the phone back to Derek, who takes it to say goodbye to Scott. It takes longer than she expected, as it’s not really as just “goodbye to Scott” as Derek asking how everyone’s doing, listening to Scott catch him up on their lives. Derek says, “See, I told you you’re good at this,” a proud smile on his face, something that makes Scott laugh appreciatively.

An inside joke, probably.

It’s obvious that Derek misses them, that this whole thing with Braeden-- it’s just Derek being nice. Or out of some misplaced sense of duty, and as soon as they find the Desert Wolf he’ll want to go back to Beacon Hills.

Derek may seem to like living on the road now, but he’s new at this. She can’t expect him to keep up with this lifestyle forever. She knows he’s probably missing his friends, that comfortable bed of his, the roof over his head, having clothes that aren’t washed in laundromats.

Braeden knows too he’ll ask her to come with him, or maybe ask her to stay, and that’s not a question she’s ready to answer just yet.

“I didn’t know we were done in Mexico,” Derek says, when he gets off the phone.

“Yeah, the San Gorgonios was the last place anyone saw her here,” Braeden says. “There’s been a more recent sighting in Arizona. It’s not entirely out of the way for me, if we go to Borrego Springs first. That’s where the information Scott needs is.”

Derek doesn’t comment on the “for me,” that slips out, just nods.

Time is of the essence.

 

* * *

 

Derek smells the Salton Sea long before they see it. It’s got a thick, acrid stench, floating into the air, like rotting fish and chemicals and brine.

They’ve been driving fast, making it across the border in just under eight hours. The road seems endless, air shimmering with heat above the asphalt, and now they’re almost to Borrego Springs, the long expanse of the Salton Sea glimmering in the distance. It’s so huge it stretches to the horizon, and one can imagine that it is actually an ocean in of itself, not just an accident of a lake.

Braeden seems tense, uncomfortable. She’s driving the car; Derek doesn’t mind, they’ve been switching on and off the whole time. He kind of wants to hold her hand, make her feel better somehow, but isn’t sure how well she’d take it. He knows the cuddling probably gets a free pass when they sleep, or after they have sex, but it’s the middle of the day right now and initiating this random intimacy makes Derek nervous.

It’s not that he hasn’t been enjoying this month with her; he feels like he’s been helpful, sort of, even if he has no idea what they’re doing. Braeden’s the tracking expert; he trusts her decisions, which towns they visit, which people they talk to.

The best part has been waking up with her every morning. Derek has so much he wants to say, but it feels like she changes the subject every time he tries, or distracts him with sex, or moves back to the investigation.

Braeden pulls them up to a crusty looking bookshop, dusty tomes in the window that don’t seem to have moved for years. “C’mon,” she says, parking the car.

Derek follows her around to the back of the bookstore, raising an eyebrow when she heads to the door. “Are we expected?” he asks.

“No,” Braeden says. “Be quiet. We’re just here to get one specific book.”

She fishes something out of her pocket, and it isn’t a lockpick like Derek expects, but a key.

The door opens, and Braeden waves them in. As Derek steps over the threshold he gets a faint prickling on the back of his neck, and he gets the feeling that this place has much better protection than a rickety old locked door. The kind of protection that radiates the aura of strong magic, barely even noticeable to Derek’s werewolf senses.

The bookshop is cluttered, and it’s clear from the back room that it’s not _just_ a bookstore. While the front is filled with old paperbacks, it’s clearly designed to put off customers. The piles of books in the back look like they cover every possible aspect of the supernatural-- tomes of lore, eyewitness accounts, diaries.

Braeden scans the shelves, walking automatically to a section, like she’s done it many times before.

Derek keeps a lookout, wary that there’s another heartbeat in the building, possible the store owner, asleep in the apartment upstairs--

There’s the sound of a gun cocking and cold metal pressed against the back of Derek’s neck.

He puts his hands up automatically.

Braeden turns at the sound, snapping the book she’s holding closed, a resigned expression on her face.

“Hello,” Braeden says. “I was hoping we would be able to just stop by without bothering you. I thought you’re usually out to lunch at this hour.” She nods at the person behind Derek. “He’s with me, you can put that down.”

The gun is removed, and a woman’s voice says warmly, “Well, hello to you too, Braeden. Who’s this?”

Braeden bites her lip. “This is Derek Hale. Derek, this is my mother.”

 

* * *

 

Braeden had been hoping to avoid this meeting. She has the book they need, but somehow Mom has convinced Derek to stay for tea.

After apologizing for the stickup, “You can never be too careful, dear,” and “Just call me Simone,” to Derek’s stuttered, “Nice to meet you, Ma’am,” Braeden is tapping her foot impatiently, turning her own empty teacup over in her hand, watching Derek joke and laugh with her mother.

Derek’s obviously having a great time. “Simone, these cookies are delicious. Did you use fresh vanilla beans in this?”

“Why yes I did,” her mother says, grinning. “You’ve got a very keen sense of taste there, young man.”

Braeden sets down the teacup heavier than she intended, the sharp sound echoing in the bookshop. “He’s a werewolf, of course he could taste the damn vanilla,” Braeden snaps.

Simone gives her a stern look, which Braeden returns in equal measure, and Derek glances between them, frozen, a cookie halfway to his mouth. It would almost be funny, and if this were a sitcom that Braeden was watching on a flatscreen TV in a luxurious hotel room bought with the exorbitant payoff from a caught bounty, her new Italian boots propped up on a few pillows while she lays back on thousand-count sheets, popping strawberries into her mouth, yeah, she would laugh. But it isn’t someone else’s life, it’s not a manufactured moment where a girl brings a hopeful boyfriend home to meet her mother-- classic comedy, right, where the girl gets embarrassed and the boy gets questioned about his life.

Braeden looks away first from her mother’s hard stare, and almost misses the veiled look of triumph as Simone turns back to Derek, who starts eating his cookie again, slowly, and asks, “So, Derek, what do you do?”

“Oh! It’s kind of boring, mostly investments in real estate. I buy houses and buildings in Beacon County, like the damaged or abandoned ones, and I make them livable again and put them back on the market. A few I keep and rent out to low-income families. Right now I manage… three apartment buildings that I’ve restored to full functionality,” Derek says, smiling proudly.

Huh. Braeden did not know that. She knew he managed the building he lived in, remembering a phone call from one of the other tenants about a broken sink, and Derek kissing the top of her head and saying, “I’ll be right back,” getting out of bed and grabbing a toolkit on his way out. It seemed like a reasonable job-- Derek Hale, landlord and handyman.

And now he’s Derek Hale, investor and philanthropist. Braeden imagines Derek sitting at a desk, perusing housing listings, pushing up his reading glasses (not quite sure where these factor into the thought, but it makes sense to her head), looking for his next buy. It should be boring, thinking about him this way, but seeing him in her head like this just makes her want to wrap her arms around him and--

“Sounds very stable,” Simone says, sipping her tea and making an approving noise in the back of her throat. She looks over at Braeden, lifting her eyebrows just enough, as if to make a note of comparison to her previous unstable relationships.

And that’s enough.

“Thanks for the tea, Mom, but we should really get going,” Braeden says quickly.

“Oh, let me help you with these dishes,” Derek says, clearing the table and walking to the kitchenette.

“Aw, thank you, sweetheart,” Simone says, patting Derek fondly on the shoulder.

As soon as he’s out of the room, Simone snaps her fingers, and a cold chill of magic drops over the room. Braeden recognizes it from her long-abandoned training-- a soundproofing spell.

“He’s a good man,” Simone says calmly.

“I know,” Braeden says.

“You need to cut him loose,” she says, mouth twisted into an angry line. She stands up and brings herself to full height, giving Braeden a firm glare.

“Just travelling with him, Mom,” Braeden says in a casual tone that would normally fool anyone, but not her mother.

“Uh huh, and he just happens to look at you like you’re the sun, every single time. What are you doing?”

Braeden grits her teeth. “I’m not _doing_ anything, he’s just… Derek, okay?”

Simone shakes her head, crossing her arms. Ah, yes, there it is, the disappointment. “I  thought you didn’t like relationships, didn’t like the hassle, and I figured with you zipping off all over the world chasing down a job here and a job there, you’d never want to put down roots.”

“I don’t,” Braeden says, scowling. “I like my job. I’m damn good at it.”

Her mother jerks her head towards the kitchen, where they can hear Derek humming to himself and the sound of water running. “And what are you gonna do with Mr. Werewolf there? You gonna take him with you? Ask him to follow you to the ends of the earth?”

There’s a cold sinking feeling in Braeden’s stomach. She’s asked herself these questions plenty of times before, and she doesn’t have an answer.

“If you had decided to be an Emissary, like me, this wouldn’t have been an issue,” Simone says, clucking her tongue in dismay. “You had such promise with magic, and you threw it all way to go play with guns.”

“Right, because you being an Emissary and working and living in the same place for twenty years really, _really_ helped Dad a whole lot,” Braeden spits out vehemently, she stands up, looking her mother in the eye, and knows she’s hit a nerve. She feels guilty immediately, the silence growing tense as Simone looks stunned and hurt. Even now, after so many years, bringing _him_ up is sure to have this reaction.

“Look, Mom, that was out of line,” Braeden says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Simone composes herself. “Your father was a casualty of a pack war, it was out of my hands--”

And the same old argument stirs Braeden up again.

“Bullshit, Mom,” Braeden says. “You staying on and working with the Tennyson Pack, keeping our family there-- they targeted him because of you. And don’t say you don’t know this, that’s why you haven’t worked with any werewolves since and are perfectly content to play ‘consultant’ out in the middle of the desert. Whatever. Don’t tell me what to do with me and mine.”

“So you admit it,” Simone says, a slight tone of triumph in her voice. “You think of him as yours.”

 

* * *

 

Braeden’s been quiet since they’ve left her mother’s bookstore. Derek stops for gas and makes a joke about the asphalt of the parking lot versus the dirt packed trails they were used to in Mexico, and Braeden doesn’t even notice, just stares out the window, and doesn’t even roll her eyes fondly at Derek’s joke.

“Hey, are you okay?” Derek asks, peering in her window as the tank fills up.

“Yeah. I’m fine. We should stop in San Diego, I’ve got a storage space there.”

“Okay,” Derek says. “Is it stuff you need to catch the Desert Wolf, though? I mean, I don’t mind driving out there, it’s just that we’re closer to Arizona now and we’d lose time if we went west and then doubled back.”  

Braeden fixes him with an unreadable look and says, “Yeah, it’s something I need.”

Derek nods, and doesn’t press any further. He hears the click of the pump topping off, and replaces the nozzle and goes into the station to buy some snacks. He grabs some water and sunflower seeds for himself, and a package of Twizzlers for Braeden as he calls Scott to let him know they have more information on the kelpies.

There are specific runes in the book that seem to be useful for immediate containment, and Derek describes them over the phone as best he can as Scott takes down the information. “There’s more,” Derek says. “Like, three whole chapters on what they expect from territories, and there’s even an account of a recent pack and a herd of kelpies co-existing in Lake Michigan.”

“So, not something you can tell me over the phone,” Scott says, disappointed.

“Look, Braeden and I are gonna be in San Diego, I can get the book overnight shipped to you,” Derek says.

“Okay, that’s awesome,” Scott says, brightening up. “Have fun in San Diego! You should totally take Braeden to Balboa Park, it’s super pretty. Like a romantic picnic, yeah?”

If anyone told Derek a few years ago he’d be taking romance advice from a seventeen-year-old, he’d laugh. But it's a good idea, and nice of Scott to suggest it. “Thanks, Scott. I’ll see what I can do,” Derek says sincerely.

He smiles to himself, paying for the food and looking at a few of the touristy brochures for local cities-- they are a bit in the middle of nowhere, but he does spot a few for San Diego. Derek skips over the advertisements for amusement parks until he spots one for Balboa Park. There is a photo of a lovely looking park, with museums and beautiful gardens and fountains filled with sprawling lotuses.

Yeah, it’s definitely an idea.

Derek settles back into the car, handing Braeden the Twizzlers, and they get back on the road. It isn’t until they’re on the highway when Derek looks over and realizes she hasn’t opened it, just is staring at the package in her lap.

“Why do you always get me these?” she asks.

“Uh-- they’re your favorite?”

“I never told you that,” Braeden says, frowning.

“That first time you rescued me and Peter from the Calaveras, before you handed us the keys to that little sedan and sped off on your bike-- we stopped at a rest stop, and you bought a package of these and ate all of it in one sitting,” Derek says, smiling at her.

“Oh,” she says softly.

Derek wants to reach for her hand, squeeze it affectionately, but settles for just flexing his fingers around the steering wheel. It’s okay, he thinks. There’s nothing wrong to take this part of their relationship slow-- sex is easy. Feelings are difficult. He wants to make this right, doesn’t want to spook her with too much intimacy at once.

“Thanks,” Braeden says, giving him a small smile, and then tucking the candy in the glovebox. “Hey, I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me when we get there and I’ll give you directions, okay?”

“Sure,” Derek says.

Braeden closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep, and Derek can’t help every now and then turning to look at her, the way she’s wearing one of his old henleys, fingers curled up around the edges of the sleeves.

Derek drives on, content.

 

* * *

 

The storage space Braeden directs them to isn’t staffed by anyone, it’s just rows and rows of units lit with flickering lights behind an ominous looking gate. She leans over Derek and keys in the code on the keypad, and the gate creaks open.

They drive in silence to a unit at the end of the lot, and Braeden hops out, staring at the door. Derek shuts off the engine and stands next to her, and realizes she’s whispering something under her breath. Latin, sounds like.

Oh. Magic.

At first glance the lock on this unit looks like the others, a simple combination lock, but then it starts to glow, and the whole door of the unit glows with runes. Protection runes, maybe?

Braeden finishes the spell, and pulls open the door.

It’s a well organized space, and Derek can see racks of weapons, meticulously labeled boxes, and two different motorcycles. He’s wandering around the space, peering curiously at everything, when he notices Braeden is putting things _in_ the unit.

She’s heading back to the Toyota and pulling out another one of her duffel bags from the trunk, kicking it into a corner.

“Uh…” Derek stares at her. “What’s going on?”

“That should be everything,” she says, matter-of-factly. “Oh, one last thing.” She reaches for the hem of her shirt--Derek’s shirt, not that it matters-- and yanks it over her head, handing it to Derek.

“Braeden,” Derek says, heart pounding rapidly. Her name comes out like a plea.

“It was only ever going to end, Derek,” she says, shaking the shirt at him. When Derek doesn’t reach out to take it, she drops it at his feet, and grabs a leather jacket hanging from a rack, pulling it on. She pushes the motorcycle out of the unit and into the driveway, and turns it on, engine softly sputtering.

She says three more words in Latin, and Derek feels himself being pushed out of the unit, as if like by a soft wind, and the door slides closed, the lock glowing and clicking back in place.

“Braeden!” Derek calls out again.

“Tell Scott I said hey,” she says. “And good luck with the kelpies.”

Braeden puts on her helmet and drives off into the night.

 

* * *

 

She had intended to keep driving until she got out of the state. The bike had plenty of gas and was already packed with essentials, and she wouldn’t have needed to fuel up until many miles down the road, but Braeden doesn’t even get twenty minutes away before she has to pull off the highway.

The tears come hot and fast, and Braeden gasps, wiping her face. It had hurt a lot more than she thought it would, watching Derek’s face just fall, the broken, confused look he gave her as she left.

She takes a deep breath, reminding herself that it’s better in the long run like this, that Derek deserves someone better.

It doesn’t help the coil of pain in her chest, but it steadies her.

Braeden tugs on her helmet and gets back on the bike.

The highway stretches out to the horizon, and the engine is thrumming beneath her, the night sky is sprinkled with stars above her, wind whipping past her, but for the first time in her life, Braeden can’t seem to enjoy the ride.

 

* * *

 

The drive back to Beacon Hills is silent, and more often than not Derek looks over to the empty passenger seat, like each time he’ll somehow see Braeden propping her feet up on his dash, a Twizzler hanging out of her mouth, making fun of Derek’s music.

But she isn’t there, she’s gone, off on her job, alone. She doesn’t need Derek. Or she got tired of him. Or figured out how he felt about her and didn’t want to bother with a relationship.

There’s a loud honk, and then a car angrily cuts in front of Derek on the highway.

Derek grips the steering wheel. There will be plenty of time to feel sorry for himself later. Right now, Scott needs him. Beacon Hills needs him. His mother’s voice echoes in his head, a memory from when he was a child, sitting at her feet with his siblings as she tells him an old story about their family--- _the Hales have always protected Beacon Hills_ …

Derek feels guilty. He hasn’t been doing his job, been running off chasing this idea… this errant hope that he and Braeden _could_ be something. She was probably just tolerating his presence, and Derek had been slowing her down. Keeping her from doing her job. And he’d been neglecting his responsibilities. Not that he didn’t think Scott could handle it, but Derek should have been there, to support him, not just fucking off to Mexico on some damn vacation.

He should have known better, really. He doesn’t deserve nice things.

Derek finally pulls into the parking lot of his apartment building and heads straight upstairs. He pulls the door open and is surprised to see Scott and the rest of the pack in his loft, loudly discussing something.

There’s only a guilty second of chiding himself for being so caught up in his self-pity he hadn’t even noticed the sound of people here.

“Derek!” Scott says, standing up from the couch, eyes lighting up. “I didn’t know you’d be back!” He rushes towards the door and gives Derek a welcoming hug, obviously not expecting to be hugged back, but Derek is tired and his heart is aching, and Scott smells like pack and home all at once, and the comfort is a relief. He doesn’t care if there are people watching, he just wants to be held right now.

“Is everything okay?” Scott asks, when Derek finally lets go. “I thought you and Br--”

“It’s fine,” Derek says, in a flat tone.

There’s something in Scott’s eyes that makes Derek thing he’s about to ask _Are you sure?_ but recognizes it’s not the time or place, and Scott nods, patting Derek’s shoulder.

“I want a hug too!” Kira says brightly, and then she’s squeezing Derek round the waist.

“He’s _my_ cousin, I want to hug him!” Malia announces, scowling.

Kira sticks her tongue out at her and holds onto Derek for a few moments longer. Scott laughs, and Derek pats Kira awkwardly on the head, not sure what quite to do.

She lets go and Malia takes her place, tackling Derek to the ground.

Stiles waves at him from where he’s still on the couch with Lydia, both of them poring over books and maps. “I took the liberty of cleaning your fridge,” he says like he’s done Derek a huge favor. “Wasn’t sure when you’d be back, but I figured you didn’t want your place stinking up.”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “More like, ‘Scott, I know this is probably the only place to have a pack meeting where our parents won’t be underfoot and I know we can’t exactly go down to the local diner and order food and talk about this stuff in public, but please please there is no place that does delivery to bumfuck nowhere Derek’s loft and, HEY HE HAS FROZEN PIZZA.’”

Her impression of Stiles is spot on, right to the exaggerated hand gestures, and Derek can’t help but chuckle.

“Welcome back,” Liam says, looking shyly over Scott’s shoulder.

Even Mason, who Derek has only met once and doesn’t hardly know at all, smiles warmly at Derek.

“Thank you,” Derek says, a little dazed from where he is on the floor. Malia is sitting on his chest, grinning proudly, and Derek is reminded of how his younger cousins used to roughhouse with him, climbing all over him after a huge Hale family dinner.

Malia smiles the exact same way, and Derek finds himself smiling back. It feels good, doing it, like he should have come back a long time ago, bonding with his cousin. She’s family, after all. And… everyone else, in a way. Derek’s always held himself a little at a distance, that this was Scott’s pack, and he was just an interloper, but the way everyone is looking at him now, the way their scents have seeped into his loft...

Malia stands up, and then Scott offers his hand to help Derek off the ground.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Scott says sincerely.

Derek takes in the otherwise tired looks on everyone’s faces, the air of exhaustion and slight fear, the mess of books from the Hale Vault, topographical maps of the lake, a chart taped to the wall with various plans, each one crossed out in a fit of unsuccessful rage.

“Good to be home,” Derek says. “So. Kelpies.”

 

* * *

 

Arizona’s air is dry and hot, and somehow the weather seems worse than it was in Mexico. Then again, she’s not by the sea anymore, and there’s no Derek to suggest buying fizzy cold drinks from street vendors.

No, it’s just sweltering heat, and Braeden tolerates it grudgingly as she stops for gas. She buys a gas-station sandwich, eating for convenience now, no more of late extended lunches with Derek picking out dishes on a whim for them to try…

She shakes herself and gets back to the road.

It isn’t far to the Grand Canyon now, and Braeden’s information has the Desert Wolf supposedly camped out on the North Rim somewhere.

Braeden drives past a tour bus filled with eager sightseers, faces plastered to the windows, oohing and ahhing at the scenery. They aren’t even in the park yet, Braeden thinks, scoffing as she pulls ahead.

The park is crowded; it’s summer, high season for tourists. Braeden catches a few odd looks in her boots and leather; neither the matching-hat-and-sunscreen uniform of the tour groups or the layered looks of the experienced hikers and backpackers. She strides purposefully, making for the ranger station, and sits down in the quiet room in the back, the final moments of a park history video playing on the screen.

A ranger with a shining nameplate that reads _Chavez_ steps into the room and sits down next to her, handing Braeden one of the park brochures. “Didn’t see you with one of these, ma’am,” she says cheekily. “Map on the back, so you don’t get lost. It’s nice to see you city slicker types giving our parks a chance, Uncle Sam appreciates it a lot.”

Braeden shakes her head in amusement, making a mental note to get her friend back for that. And the _ma’am_ comment.

Chavez winks and walks out of the room, whistling merrily.

Opening the brochure to the map shows in neatly marked handwriting a set of coordinates, and a crudely drawn cartoon of a coyote.

Gotcha.

Braeden is out the door and on her way back to her bike. She plugs in the coordinates into her GPS unit, waiting for the detailed topographic map to load, when her phone buzzes.

“Mom?” Braeden answers testily.

“While you and Derek are in Arizona, can you stop by Prescott Valley and pick up my order of dryad skin from Lucas?”

Braeden takes a deep breath. “There is no me and Derek. I hope you’re happy. I did what you said and dumped him. He’s probably back in Beacon Hills by now. And no, I’m not gonna play delivery girl for you, you can tell Lucas there’s nothing wrong with mailing the dryad skin--”

“You. Did. What.”

Simone’s cold tone takes Braeden by surprise.

“You told me to cut him loose,” Braeden replies. “I figured for once I’d listen to my mother’s advice. You were right, it wasn’t ever going to go anywhere, and I was just setting myself up to get hurt--”

“Baby girl, you have never taken my advice seriously a day in your life,” Simone says, and Braeden can just imagine her shaking her head. “I said Emissary training, you took jujitsu and bought a shotgun. I said stick close to home, you got yourself a one way ticket to Peru. You’ve always followed your heart wherever you wanted, and I’m proud of you and what you’ve done. What makes you think I wouldn’t try a little reverse psychology to get my daughter to keep her man around just to spite her mother?”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. “You… you liked Derek. You liked me _and_ Derek.”

“I don’t invite just anyone, for tea, you know,” Simone says, tsking. “He’s good for you, I saw that. You two looked happy. Why on earth would you want to let that go? And that whole long distance thing is totally workable, even if he stays in Beacon Hills and you go wherever. There’s all this technology now, with sexting and Skype--”

“Mom,” Braeden cuts her off before she can say anything else. “I have to go.”

“Tell Derek I said hello,” Simone says, and the line goes flat.

Braeden looks at the detailed map on her GPS unit now, thinking about what it would take to get there. She’d have to hike in on foot, or get a burro from somewhere. That means getting back out to town and buying supplies, since she doesn’t have a nearby storage unit here and wasn’t prepared for a backcountry jaunt. She’d have to park the bike somewhere safe.

This is on a _chance_ that the Desert Wolf might still be there.

Braeden turns off the GPS unit and shoves it back into her bag, turning on her bike.

She leaves the park, and the Desert Wolf behind.

 

* * *

 

The kelpies have not been forthcoming to any of the first treaty attempt--- leaving out platters of raw meat on the shoreline. For one thing, there was a bonfire and a rousing party the same night, and a few revelers kicked the meat into the water. So instead of perceiving it as a peace offering, the kelpies took offense and attacked.

Lydia managed to get the party-goers out of there with a clever ruse about a sewage leak before everything started, and Derek supposes he should be grateful that there are innocent lives spared, but he can’t really be all that grateful because they’re all still in danger.

The shoreline is a splashing, wild mess. The kelpies have shifted into dark, horselike creatures, with vicious-looking fangs, snapping at them. Derek is fighting with one of them, slashing at it with his claws, and behind him he can hear Mason whap another one with the iron crowbar he’s wielding, spluttering as he coughs up water.

They’re surrounded, and there are more kelpies coming towards them, and even though Scott had said deliberately, “No violence,” it’s been days and days them trying for peace, and Derek arriving yesterday with more information seemed to be the last try. Now Scott is in the water, roaring at another kelpie who has shifted into a large, writhing creature with way too many tentacles, who has seized Kira in another grip, lifting her into the air as she tries to slash uselessly with her katana at the tentacle, but the kelpie keeps her out of reach. Malia is in her coyote form, gripping onto another tentacle with her teeth, holding on for dear life as she’s being whipped around.

Kira’s sparking with electricity, and Lydia is shouting in the background about not to do anything because they are all wet, and the current--

Everything is confusing and noise and water, and Derek is exhausted. He’s half treading water, trying not to get dragged into the depths of the lake, looking back on the shore where Stiles is dragging an injured Liam to safety.

There’s a kelpie charging onto shore, and it shifts into a strange, clawed creature, reaching out for Liam’s ankle--

Derek gets dragged underwater, and he claws at the kelpie holding him, and it changes again into something else, an eel, maybe, if an eel was three feet wide and had glowing green eyes was starting to coil around Derek like a boa constrictor. It drags him to shore, like it wants the luxury of eating him on solid ground, and Derek gasps, swallowing a lungful of air.

There’s a roar of an engine, and something crashes through the trees, a-- a motorcycle?

Derek thinks he must be imagining things, because Braeden is here, running over the eel-kelpie with her bike, and it transforms into something else, slithering away back towards the water. Braeden pumps her shotgun and fires a quick round at the one going after Liam and Stiles, and it makes a mewling noise and retreats. She stands protectively over Derek, still laying on the ground, stunned.

“Okay, so what I said,” Braeden says, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and she fires off another shot into the lake, at one particular tentacle. There’s a splash as Kira is released. “About us, ending and all that, that was just me being scared.” She fires another round and Derek watches as the kelpie holding Malia whimpers in pain and disappears. “And you know, or maybe you don’t, since I’ve been avoiding talking about an _us_ , but I think I was afraid that talking about it would make it, like official, and I’ve never done the serious thing before and had it work out--” another shot, this time at the kelpie creeping up behind Scott-- “and I really do want it to work out, you know, like I have all these--” and Braeden pumps her shotgun, and looks around, but the lake is silent and there are no more kelpies to be seen, apparently having all gone off to nurse their injuries in the depths. “Feelings. About you. And I want us to be a thing. I’m sorry I told you to go, and I just really want to make this work. What do you think?”

Braeden looks down at Derek, eyes shining.

“I love you,” Derek says.

He’d meant to say just a simple yes, but as soon as he’s said it he knows it’s the truth, and he doesn’t regret it, not at all when Braeden just smiles, face relaxing with relief, and she bends down to kiss him.

It isn’t until Derek hears a throat clear when Derek pulls away, embarrassed.

Scott is grinning cheekily at him. “Hey, Braeden. Thanks for helping us out. Though, I really wanted to work this out without any violence--”

Braeden stares at him. “Kelpies have two favorite things: drowning people, or eating them. You really think you can coexist with them?”

“Everyone deserves a chance,” Scott says. “What did you shoot them with, anyway?”

“My own recipe of rock salt, mistletoe, and iron rounds. Won’t kill ‘em, just sting something awful,” Braeden replies, patting her shotgun fondly. “Besides, I think the peace talks you’ve been trying might have been missing something.”

She walks over to her motorcycle, engine still running and wheels trying to move in the mud, and pulls something out from her bag. It’s a book, almost identical to the one Derek gave Scott yesterday, except this one is dated for this year.

“I figured out when I was driving through Redding that there might be another updated copy of that book, and I grabbed this one from my cousin’s store. Look, they’ll respect you more if you do a ‘great display of force defending the territory,’ so…” Braeden grins, flipping the book to an open page and handing it to Scott.

Scott reads the page, nodding. “Okay, okay. I can work with this-- thanks, Braeden.”

“Good to see you again,” Lydia says.

Mason looks at Braeden curiously as he wrings out the edge of his shirt from his encounter in the lake. Derek is about to introduce her, realizing the boy’s the only one that hasn’t met her, when Mason offers his hand to her and says brightly, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hale.”

Braeden doesn’t even blink, just shakes his hand and laughs. “Please, he’d take _my_ name, not the other way around.”

Derek nods, silently agreeing. Yeah, he would.

 

**Author's Note:**

> In S03E01, "Tattoo," Braeden (then unnamed) magically inscribes the symbol of the bank vault on Allison and Lydia's arms. I've always thought this bit of magic was neat, and explored the idea in this fic that she was supposed to have trained as an Emissary, and still retains a good chunk of that knowledge. 
> 
> EDIT: I drabbled a bit on more backstory on Braeden's past and family history [here!](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/post/113323601625/hello-i-read-your-fic-for-the-rarepair-exchange)
> 
> Thank you for reading! You can find me on tumblr [here.](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com)


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